The New
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The old hast gone for the new to come,
The old that finds a weary way through hideaway among the wet field of corn,
The clandestine tunnel of lazy mouse.
The old that is new ever with new spring and summer with time hast lost the lustre
for a bud to be budding,
The drooping bloom is facing the Sun on the crimson western sky,
The new is swaying with soft touch of breezy morn.
The old is blunt with the watery eyes of myriad mock that life's peaceful Arbor offers.
The palm tree overstepping not The same line amid the fecund field,
and standing day and night with Stemless
bough,
Witness the change and Crescendo of life's Ceaseless going from bearing to ultimate drowse.
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